The Red Wyvern - Katharine Kerr [119]
“It’s over,” Owaen said. “You missed quite a performance, bard. The regent’s men shrieked like frightened lasses, but it was a pleasant sound for all that.”
The prince led them to his pavilion, where Oggyn, his scribe, and a pair of servants were waiting for him. When the silver daggers started to disperse, he called them back.
“I’ve got somewhat to say to all of you,” Maryn said. “For the sake of the silver dagger itself I’ll swear you a vow. Every man of you left alive shall have a boon from me—lands, title, horses, what little gold we have—anything at all! Ask, and I’ll grant it.”
“My liege, you’re too generous.” Maddyn felt his eyes well with tears. “But you have my thanks from the bottom of my heart.”
From his place behind the prince’s shoulder Nevyn was scowling. Maryn had left himself open to greed, Maddyn knew; as the new leaders of the troop, he and Owaen would need to make sure that their men asked for something reasonable.
“I only wish Caradoc had lived,” Maryn went on. “I’d offer him the Cerrmor rhan on the spot.”
“My liege?” Maddyn said. “There’s one thing that Caradoc wanted above all else. He told me this a hundred times. He wanted us—wanted the silver daggers—to outlive him. The wars will be over soon, and maybe no one will need mercenary troops like ours, but it would gladden his heart in the Otherlands to know that silver daggers still rode in Deverry.”
“Then he shall have it!” Maryn turned to the scribe. “Write this down: as long as my line rules this kingdom, let there be silver daggers, for as long as they wish to ride. Let it be known forever as Caradoc’s Boon.”
Nevyn’s scowl deepened. When the old man realized that Maddyn was watching him, he smoothed it into the bland and empty smile of a courtier.
Later Nevyn explained, as they were walking together on the outermost wall in the cool night air. Before and below them the ruins of Dun Deverry spread out. Walls of broken stone rose from the shadows or pitted the darkness, a dead black against the living night.
“Tell me,” Maddyn said. “What have you got against us, Nevyn? When the king made that vow to Caradoc’s spirit, you looked like you’d bitten into a Bardek citron.”
“I’ve got naught against you. It’s the men who’ll come after you that trouble my heart. The silver daggers have won themselves a place in legend, truly. The kingmakers, bards call you. What’s going to happen if some other man decides he wants to be king, somewhere down the long road of Time, and corrupts whoever’s leading you then?”
“Oh. Oh ye gods, I hadn’t thought of that! My apologies, my apologies from the bottom of my heart! I’d not have asked for such a thing if I’d thought about that.”
“No doubt. All of you lads need to do some hard thinking before you go asking for those boons. The king will honor them above any others he’s granted. I know him well enough to know that. Is the point taken?”
“Very well indeed. And I’ll do some hard talking to make sure we all do the hard thinking.”
“Good. I always recommend it. Thinking, that is.”
All afternoon Burcan strode through Dun Deverry with wads of bandages tied under his shirt as tight as Merodda could get them. Whenever she begged him to lie down and rest, he snarled at her. All she could do was trail along behind, ready to tend his wounds whenever he let her. He’d been struck one blow to his side that had broken several ribs and split the skin, then suffered a stab low down on his back, perhaps at the joining of his mail. Both bled, on and off, and she was afraid that the stab had gone deeper than he’d admit. At moments when no one but she could see him, he would lean against a wall or doorjamb for a long moment, biting his lips against the pain.
Wherever he went, his men flocked to him. He would sometimes laugh and cheer them, at others turn solemn and tell them how much depended upon them. Although she kept back out of the way, Merodda could see the change he wrought. White-faced and dispirited men slumped wearily on the ground or against walls to listen to him; men with life in their eyes jumped